


(This Is Not) A Date

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dating, Developing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Future Fic, Skoulson RomFest 2k15, Skye Gets Dessert, Undercover, Unresolved Sexual Tension, skoulsonfest2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times it wasn't a date - and one it was.</p><p>Written for the Skoulson RomFest 2k15 - prompt: not-a-date date</p>
            </blockquote>





	(This Is Not) A Date

**one**

The pretending not to be SHIELD is fun, and after all, small fry like this guy don't know her face, they might even be able to pull this. It's also fun watching Coulson play a version of himself. And all those interviews he's given of late, he has the practice. The very public Director of SHIELD grovelling for funds among the Washington elites, while keeping an eye on this very private enemy.

"Did this guy think he could just walk in here and poke around?" Hunter asks through the comms, offended.

He and Mack are upstairs, the trap is set and they are the end of the line.

"I'm more curious to see if he really is alone," Skye says.

She leans on the bar, happy to be playing the careless socialite for a day. The last weeks have been all stuffiness and moving boxes and preparing press releases. It's nice to be out. And wearing a nice dress too.

Coulson's job is to work the room, look like he doesn't suspect a thing, and pretend he doesn't know Skye. He's doing well, he's _loud_ , and the kind of charming that makes people unsuspecting. It's working, Skye can see the suspect beginning to relax, beginning to think SHIELD agents are incompetent and he actually has a chance at this.

"He's moving," Coulson notes, speaking through the comms while he smiles at the crowd. "You think he's going upstairs?"

She can hear Hunter and Mack draw a breath at the other end of the line, getting ready for action.

"Nah, I think he's just going to squeeze the lemon," Skye says.

"What?!" Hunter and Mack shout in her ear.

"He's going to the bathroom," Coulson explains from the other side of the room. 

"Yeah, we know, sir, Skye's just being gross."

"South corridor," Skye tells Coulson, ignoring her teammates. 

She sees Coulson nod from the other side of the room. "Bobbi is covering that exit. Skye? Time for a drink?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

She watches Coulson approach and it's game time.

She can see people looking at Coulson as he makes his way through, the Director of the newly exonerated New SHIELD, but nobody outside the HYDRA higher ups has any idea who Skye is, she's made sure of that. _Good thing for a spy_ , Coulson had said, dubious, like he was actually asking if that's the kind of role she wants to have. Skye doesn't know, she's figuring that one out, and there might be a reason why she's still reticent to make public her affiliation with the agency, in case she needs the anonimity later. But this kind of operation she can always go for. These are skills she already had before joining SHIELD. And stuff like today's offers a rare chance to see Coulson use those very skills as well.

He reaches her, flashing a half smirk Skye has seen him use on suspects, enemies, patsies. People must be asking who is this strange girl the Director is talking to.

"Well, hi, stranger," Skye says, with her best totally-innocent smile, eyes fluttering, the full works. "I hear you're the boss of this whole thing. Saw you on tv. You look better in person."

"And hello to you too, completely unknown person who is crashing SHIELD's fundraiser."

"You guys are not half bad at this," Hunter comments.

"Not half bad," Mack agrees, sounding impressed – and it's not easy impressing Mack. 

"And you guys are being annoying, we don't need the running commentary," Skye says, turning to flash a disarming smile towards the barman to get his attention, but looking sideways at Coulson. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Least you could do, after crashing my party," Coulson replies. He has his flirt on, and though Skye has seen that in action – hell, it's a technique she's particularly fond of using herself, they have that in common – she has never been on the receiving end before. It's kind of nice, in all its fakeness.

Skye takes a look at him, now that the cover of the mission allows her to, the kind of look a bold, flirting girl would give a prospective partner; he's wearing a suit – he's the Director of SHIELD after all, and this fundraiser is also supposed to be work – but it's not the kind he normally wears on the job, it's nicer. He doesn't look half bad.

She orders the drinks. "What's your poison? Scotch, no ice, no water?"

He raises an impressed eyebrow when Skye pushes the glass towards towards him. Skye suspects it's not entirely for the mission's sake.

"Couldn't have chosen better if I had ordered it myself."

He tilts his head and smirks slowly. It's easy to get caught up in the moment and Skye takes a sip of her glass and lets out a pleased sigh.

"You do remember you're not on a date, right? That you have a job to do?" they hear through the line.

Skye rolls her eyes.

"As Hunter's senior agent... Can I order him off the comms?"

"You can," Coulson replies. "And _you should_."

 

**two**

She presses her whole body against his side, holding on to his arm tightly. His arm feels warm against the gray afternoon.

"We need to sell this," she says as way of an explanation, akwardly, pulling him closer.

"Yes," he agrees half-assedly. 

He's not sure there's a way to sell this, a way they don't look conspicuous. He feels like people could tell the fakeness of it from a mile away. He should have come with May, or Skye should have done this with Hunter. Coulson realizes this is the first time in his he has felt self-conscious about having a beautiful woman at his arm. Does that mean he's finally accepting he's of a certain age and that beautiful women are not out of the question but the kind Skye is will always arise suspicious? He has to think about the mission first, not his ego.

They walk at a certain distance from the subject.

"I have to say, old-fashioned surveillance has its advantages and its flaws," Skye comments.

"What do you mean?"

"On one hand – and I say this as an expert on electronic surveillance – you see a lot more stuff on the ground. On the other hand you have to see your boss making that face."

She scowls at him.

"You look like you're having the worst date ever," she explains. "Which, on top of being very offensive to your fellow SHIELD agent, it's really not good for the mission."

He huffs.

Skye is right, of course. He shouldn't be uncomfortable – he doesn't understand why he is so stiff. He's done this thing of stuff a million times in his career, he usually likes it. Pretending to be someone else, blending in. Today he feels edgy. Walking across the park, arms locked like a couple but looking miserable. What movie is the thinking about right now? He's pretty sure it had Ingrid Bergman.

Skye shoves one hand into the pocket of his trenchcoat, pressing her cheek against Coulson's shoulder, a lover's gesture or just a search for warmth. The wind blows her hair into his face and Coulson hides it there breathing into the side of her head. Hoping he's _selling it_ a bit better.

"I think he's stopping by those benches," she notices. "You think that's the drop site?"

"Maybe."

Skye glances up at him and he knows she wants to comment on his icy mood but she seems to think better of it, shaking her head slightly and strolling on, the only professional here, Coulson thinks.

 

**three**

Worn and a bit battered they regroup in a tiny joint in Johannesburg. And Skye collapses in a worn and battered leather couch near the darkest corner of the place (they are no longer fugitives, terrorists, but it's still a good habit) while Coulson gets them a couple of beers.

"This is a weird way of finishing an extraction," she comments as she accepts the drink. "Thanks."

Her wrist hurts and she rubs her fingers against it. She's not really in a bad shape, just sore. The beer is an excellent idea.

Coulson sinks right next to her with an audible sigh of exhaustion. In the end Skye is not sure who extracted whom, just that the mission was endless.

"I didn't feel like starting the debriefing just yet," he explains in a raw voice. "Just – let's stay dark for a little while."

This is not quite staying dark, this is very much being visible, but she knows what he means. And it's really rare that Coulson admits he needs a break, let alone actually take one. The place is quiet but lively, they blend in well.

Coulson lets out another sigh and for a moment Skye thinks he's going to fall asleep against her shoulder – they are sitting that close and he is looking that tired. Skye listens to his labored breathing for a moment, feels the warmth of his body pressed to hers. This is one of these weird moments, of which there have been quite some lately, where it feels like she and Coulson are almost too close, personally. She doesn't know what these moments mean, only they exist, and they make her painfully aware of Coulson, his physical presence in her life.

He seems to come out of it, though, rubbing his eyes and leaning forward to grab the bottle of beer.

"Not bad," he says after taking a generous gulp.

Coulson looks around, sees the same Skye sees. The Friday night clients, playing pool, boys chatting up girls, the soft music. Anyone might mistake Skye and Coulson for a real part of this.

"This is nice," Coulson comments.

He seems to have recovered the energy in a moment.

Skye smiles at him.

"This feels kind of date-ish," she comments, because maybe if she talks about it she can deflect the tension.

"It's not," Coulson replies, curt.

She shrugs, leans back on the couch. "Just saying."

"Well, _it's not_."

"Wow. Relax, sir, I'm just messing with you."

She doesn't try to tease him about this again.

 

**four**

It's Feburary and it's cold and they are outside but he prefers it to a crowded place. Skye said it was okay, that she knew he wouldn't make trouble, and if he did she knew she could take care of it, yet Coulson would rather minimize the risks. It's not his mission, it's not even a mission, but he likes the illusion of some control here.

Skye looks nervous, and nervous about his presence, which is the opposite of what Coulson wanted. She had asked him here, she had acted like it was a favor too big to even consider but of course it wasn't, of course there was no way he wouldn't say yes to her.

"I know this is really weird but..." she trails off.

He doesn't want to point out that the last time his father saw him he tried to kill him. Weird is probably too light a word for this.

"I just didn't want to do this alone," she says.

He nods. Almost being beaten up to death by the guy or not he's not going to turn Skye down when she asks so directly. Skye doesn't ask for favors, specially of the personal kind. She must really want him here. He feels ambivalent about that as well – thinking perhaps Skye should know better, but touched by the idea anyway. This is big for her, meeting her father like this, and she wants to include Coulson.

"It sickens me to think that he'll probably be happy about... the gift," she says, without looking at Coulson, the line of the jaw tensing. 

Skye looks... _cold_. Her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket and her face wears a non-expression that is rare enough in her to be alarming. Once upon a time he remembers wishing a family for Skye, a real family, not a makeshift infiltrated-by-Nazis version of it. He didn't want this.

"If you want to go, we go," he tells her.

There's that brave half smile of hers, he knows it well.

"What? Do you know how hard it is getting a day off from you? You want me to waste it?"

He smiles despite himself.

"We don't need to waste it," he says, daydreaming. "We could go somewhere else. It's a nice day."

Skye takes her hands out of her pockets, gesturing towards the landscape.

"Coulson, it's freezing."

"It's _sort_ of a nice day," he amends. He's desperate to offer her a way out, in case she thinks there isn't one, in case she thinks this is some sort of obligation. "You know what I mean. We could go somewhere. Have a coffee. Take the day off."

It's not the first time Skye looks at him like she's the fifty year old and Coulson's the youth. 

"I appreciate the concern and that plan sounds really nice, but you know I have to do this, right?" He nods. "If you want to leave –"

"No," he says quickly.

The whole point is that he gets to be here, with her. Coulson wraps his fingers around her hand. It's a gingerly touch, unsure of itself, so different from that time, in another life, when he held her hand tightly, confidently, when she thought she had found out the truth about her parents. But the truth had gotten more complex, and Coulson's confidence in being able to comfort Skye had grown dimmer. 

"I'm here," he tells her. Maybe it doesn't help at all but he likes to think it means something that he tries.

"Next time we get a day off, okay?" she says.

Coulson nods, knowing that's not very likely.

 

**five**

In Los Angeles no one looks twice at the tiny wound on his face, her clothes in certain disarray. They touch base and draw breath in the usual place. If people notice they are fresh from combat this is a safe corner and Skye jumps to secure a place in one of the old-fashioned diner booths.

"Yes! Dessert," Skye says, reading the menu.

She goes for the most traditional choice, something homey. She feels like comfort food.

Coulson slides into the opposite seat, maneuvering his body carefully, like any limb might be the cause of pain if not handled properly.

"Should we be in the hospital or something?" Skye asks him.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

She rubs her knee. The fall had hurt a bit, but it didn't even tear the fabric of her pants, and all that's left of it is a slightly uncomfortable dull ache.

"Nah, it's just some scratches," she assures him.

They bring them the coffee first, a rich smell filling the air around them. Skye might be a girl of simple tastes but a big mug of hot coffee after a succesful mission is just the best.

"I wanted to eat something," Coulson says. "We can get patched up later."

"The food here is so good," she comments.

"I know," he says, looking delighted and more relaxed she's seen him in ages. They come here whenever they are in town.

This feels a lot like taking the morning off.

Skye chuckles, staring at his face.

"What?"

"No, nothing," she hides her smile behind her mug.

"What is it?"

"They always get you there, uh?" she throws a look to his forehead. "You have a weird tendency of getting punched right there, over the right eyebrow. Always that spot."

Coulson touches the wound, wincing a bit. It's more of a bruise than a cut, it didn't even bleed, but Skye finds the placement amusing.

"I do. I didn't think anyone had noticed."

"I noticed," Skye says.

She reaches out her hand and touches the spot with her fingertips. This time Coulson doesn't wince. He looks at her curiously. The touch is light and friendly but somehow in a second it redefines everything between them. Coulson draws a breath and reaches for her, touching his fingertips against the back of Skye's hand.

"Skye..."

"Sorry," she mutters and slips her hand from under his touch. "Didn't mean to... Uh."

She drops her gaze.

There's a nice midday sun pouring over and drawing curious orange shapes on the formica table.

"It was a date," Coulson says.

Skye looks up. "What?"

"That night in Johannesburg," he explains. "I said it wasn't a date. It was."

Her eyes wide, triumphant. " _I knew it_."

That was almost a year ago. Skye hadn't tried to bring up the subject again. 

Coulson smiles apologetically.

"I just didn't know how to ask for it," he admits.

She leans forward and, reaching across the table, she touches his hand for encouragement.

"Coulson," she says. "You've known me for a long time now. You didn't have to be shy."

He chockes back some laughter. She gets it. The idea that Phil Coulson could ever be shy is laughable indeed.

"And this?" she asks, shedding that second skin of self-confidence for a moment, asking honestly. "Is this a date?"

He's about to reply when the waitress interrupts, bringing Skye's order. Coulson thanks the woman and smiles at the food and then at Skye and waits until the waitress is gone to speak.

"You've ordered pie," he says. " _Of course_ it's a date."

Skye takes a bite and grins at Coulson and wonders if he minds apple-flavored kisses or public displays of affection. She hopes he doesn't.


End file.
